


Matching Gravestones

by sanguinegranger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Harry Potter Dies, Horcrux Hunting, Horcruxes, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Imprisonment, Minor Character Death, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Psychological Torture, Second War with Voldemort, Secret Relationship, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Violence, like very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinegranger/pseuds/sanguinegranger
Summary: They had missed a horcrux. Harry Potter, the Order's only hope, is dead. But Voldemort isn't. And now he is invincible, unless Hermione can figure out what the ninth horcrux is.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Slowburn, post-war Dramione. Warning for dark material (death, gore, torture, rape, self-harm, and psychological torture). Most are described in detail. This book is heavily inspired by "Manacled" - senlinyu.
> 
> By the way, this is my first time posting on AO3, so I apologize in advance for any formatting, tagging, etc. errors made. I am more familiar with Wattpad's set-up, but I figured it was time to branch out. Feedback is always appreciated.

Hermione could do nothing but stare at the body that Hagrid was carrying in his arms. It was a scrawny, pale boy with dark hair, and he looked a lot like -

No. She shook her head, as if those thoughts were like pesky flies. They buzzed around her brain with the sole purpose of confusing her. No. That body couldn't possibly be Harry; because then all this would be for nothing, and they would have lost. No. Harry was alive.

But then Voldemort was laughing. A low, wicked laugh that made everyone in the courtyard freeze. Hermione didn't have any time to wonder what he found so funny before her worst fear was being confirmed.

"Harry Potter...is dead!"

The words, and their impact, hit Hermione square in the face. Harry was dead? No. That couldn't have been him, it was some part of a plan that he and Dumbledore had created. Right? In a moment of foolish desperation, she wracked her brain for every skinny, brunet boy she had ever seen at Hogwarts. It couldn't be Harry.

But then she heard Ginny screaming. It felt like ice water trickling down her back; and she thought that Ron felt it too as she met his gaze. His eyes were pained and uncertain, but he shook his head at her. He was telling her not to believe Voldemort.

The Death eaters behind Voldemort cackled, relishing in the anguish they had caused.

"From this day forth...you'll put your faith in me." Hermione felt sick at the thought. She willed herself to not panic, or cast an Unforgivable, or do anything generally stupid enough to get herself killed just yet.

Her eyes caught a flash of ice-blond coming forward from Voldemort's ranks. Lucius Malfoy. He was calling out for his son. For some reason, she had a flashback to three years ago, when Voldemort had first come back. Another father, panicked, trying to save his son. But Cedric Diggory had been dead for over an hour when he showed up in the courtyard. Hermione shook the flies in her skull away again.

An unreadable face, with hair like his father's, stumbled into the middle of the courtyard.

Draco Malfoy.

Childhood bully, blood-purist, and Death Eater. Hermione would have never dared admit this to anyone ( _especially_ not Harry or Ron), but she felt sorry for him. He didn't have anyone. It stung to hear 'mudblood' being spit out of his mouth; her eyes still watered when he insulted her appearance. But she knew it would hurt more to live knowing that no one cared if you survived or not. It disgusted her, but she sympathized with him. Hermione Granger pitied Draco Malfoy.

If he knew that, he would have laughed in her face. How could a filthy mudblood like _her_ pity _him?_

She watched as his blank expression turned into one of discomfort. To avoid feeling any pity for Draco as he was embraced by Voldemort, she looked down at her blood-stained shoes.

All was quiet for a moment, but then Neville Longbottom was limping forward, Sorting Hat clutched in his hand.

Hermione's panic nestled in the bottom of her stomach, fighting to spill out of her like vomit. She swallowed it down. Despite the sweat forming on the palm of her hand, making her hands slick, she held onto her wand tight enough to leave indents. Always ready.

Fury engulfed her heart like a fire as Voldemort taunted Neville. She did her best to convey this fury through her eyes. _We're not done fighting. We're not done fighting_.

"We lost Harry tonight. But he's still with us. In here." Neville placed his hand over his heart, wildly looking around at the beaten faces around him. "Just like Fred..." - Hermione glanced at Ron, who stiffened and ignored her - "Remus...Tonks. All of them. They didn't die in vain."

Neville shoved his hand into the Sorting Hat, gaining confidence with every word he shouted. "But you will. Because you're wrong! Harry's heart did beat for us. For all of us! It's not over!"

Ten different things then happened at once, and Hermione felt like she was running through mud trying to keep up with it all. The Sword of Gryffindor was shining in the sun, temporarily blinding Hermione. But then she saw movement in the corner of her eye, making her eyes tear away from the weapon to Hagrid. There was the body of Harry, the Order's _greatest_ weapon. It was lying on the ground.

Alive.

All lassitude and hopelessness melted away like snow once he leapt off the ground. She vaguely heard Ron whisper under his breath - _I knew it_.

Hermione took a minute to soak in the anger that was clearly evident on Voldemort's face.

She was about to grab the red-head's hand and run, but then her ears picked up another sound; another voice. This one cracked with more emotion than Hermione had heard in it in a long time.

It was Malfoy. He had yelled "Potter!" as he threw something at the feet of his supposed enemy. Squinting, Hermione realized it was a wand. His wand.

Hermione was confused. Wasn't he just stalking off a moment ago, to join the Death Eaters? Then it hit her: he realized that Voldemort was going to lose. There was more hope for him to live if he helped Harry. Malfoy was banking on the fact that the Order was kinder to its prisoners than Death Eaters were.

But then the kinder side of her, the one that hadn't grown pessimistic from the war, made her think of the alternative. Maybe he was finally making a decision of his own. This was the real Draco; the one that was Good.

"Confringo!" A wave of fire shot out of the newly-given wand. The heat hit Hermione, snapping her out of her thoughts. She realized she had to go _now._ She ran.   
  
  


───────────────  
  
  


For the next hour, she was fighting Death Eaters with more energy and determination than she ever had. She sent spell after spell at the dark-hooded figures. Her body ached, her hair was flying wildly, and blood was trickling from her forehead towards her eyes.

Hermione was using spells she had never thought to use before; they were too similar to what Death Eaters used. But as soon as she cast the first one, she knew she was doing the right thing.

The whole time she was fighting Death Eaters, she wondered where their leader was. And more importantly, where Harry was. It didn't take a Ravenclaw to figure out that they were dueling each other, but Hermione wasn't sure where in the castle they were. She needed to find him, to help him.

She was running around, trying to not look at the dead bodies of fellow students near her feet.

There was Seamus, lying in a pool of his own blood, his wand abandoned at his legs. She rushed past, ignoring how the warm red liquid seeped through her shoes.

Hermione also couldn't find Ron. This made her irrationally angry. Did the two boys run off and leave her? She channeled this anger into a powerful destruction spell, using it to trap two Death Eaters under a column from the school. It wasn't enough to kill; Hermione didn't think she could do that yet.

She found this frustrating. On one hand, she didn't really want to kill anyone.

But they had tried to kill Harry. They had stolen the lives of so many of her friends.

That should be enough to justify killing a few Death Eaters. No one would stop her if she did; some would probably even cheer her on.

She gritted her teeth, tearing her eyes away from the destruction she had just caused. Annoyed by her own goodness and inability to kill, she continued on her search to find her boys.

Hermione turned the corner, looking over her shoulder to shoot a stunning spell. She smacked into something hard. A person.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it was all over.

She didn't get the chance to see who it was. Strong arms trapped her in place, covering her mouth so tightly that she couldn't breath. The person snatched her wand away, leaving her unable to do anything but kick furiously.

Before she knew it, she was in the courtyard again. Screaming, she bit the palm of her captor, immediately tasting blood. In return, a hand pressed harder over her nose, cutting her oxygen off further. Her head felt like it had been hit with a Jelly-Brain Jinx.

But once she saw what was waiting for her, she knew it hadn't been.

Harry was tied down in a kneeling position, his arms and legs magically bound together. Unable to move. His body was shaking. Blood was pouring down at his feet, but Hermione couldn't tell where it was coming from. His head had been bowed, but once Death Eaters and their prisoners started popping up, his lightning scar slowly became visible. Hermione hadn't seen him this frightened in a long time. The thought made panic bubble in her lower abdomen again.

Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. But someone was standing in front of Harry, twirling a wand carelessly between their fingertips. Their cloak cast a shadow over their face, hiding their identity. She tried again to break free, this time trying a wandless spell to burn the arms around her. But she was too weak, in mind and in body, to perform the spell strongly enough. It backfired, and her hip bones stung.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to wake up from a bad dream. She was knocked out; she had gotten injured during the battle. Ron was stroking her hair, mumbling something about her being ' _bloody crazy'_ as she woke up. Harry had succeeded. Good had won.

Hermione's eyes opened. Harry still struggled against his restraints.

The figure in the front pushed his hood back. Lucius Malfoy stood there, sneering at the confused mass of people in front of him.

"Harry Potter may have succeeded in destroying the Dark Lord's physical body, but he is not dead." Malfoy spoke in a cold voice, the words pierced Hermione in the heart like icicles. "And it won't be long before he's standing here again." It took a minute for the meaning to sink in, but then Hermione's jaw dropped. Harry had killed Voldemort.

Except...he hadn't. Because Lucius just said Voldemort wasn't dead. But he also said Harry had succeeded? It felt like the flies in her head were back, but stronger than before.

Something had gone wrong. What had happened? Hermione tried to focus on that question and its possible answers instead of Lucius.

"I will repeat what he had said before Potter foolishly revealed he was alive. Anyone wishing to come join us will be allowed to do so, but you may only do so now. I don't repeat myself."

Hermione tried again to jump forward, desperately twisting her body to free herself from her captor's arms. What would she do if she was freed, she didn't know. Probably kill Lucius.

"Don't." A wand met the underside of her jaw like a painful kiss. Hermione forced herself not to gasp as she placed the voice: the youngest Malfoy. That realization hurt more than the burns on her hips.

So. Her first thoughts about him being a coward were correct. He switched sides to whichever one was winning. The witch thought she could have stomached his true evilness more easily than him believing in nothing.

She stomped on his foot. Hard.

She didn't bother trying to hide her satisfied smirk when he hissed in pain.

She _did_ bother hiding her whimper when Draco mumbled a spell that gave her a large slash across her thigh.

Lucius had stopped talking. Hermione guessed it was him giving people time to come forward. No one moved.

"I see you've all made your choice. I hope you're satisfied about it when you're dead." Lucius spat before spinning around, now facing Harry. "Your friends deaths will be painful. But for you...I think a simple spell should do the trick. One I believe you're familiar with."

Then came a burst of green light, and Harry's body slumped over.

Again and again and again. It seemed as if every Death Eater was given the chance to cast the spell at Harry.

Hermione let out a pained cry, struggling harder than ever to free herself. "Get off of me, you fucking coward! Get off me!" She screeched, limbs flailing as she tried to hit him.

But Draco held on, his grip tightening. He whispered a spell that Hermione couldn't hear. It made her arms go slack and her legs froze in place, but she could still move her head.

She used this ability to turn and spit in his face. His eyes flashed with anger, but he didn't retaliate. He only cast a silencing spell over her so she couldn't speak anymore. 

"Look at your savior now!" This made Hermione whip her head around, though she tried to focus on Lucius rather than Harry. This task was more difficult than she thought it would be.

"You'll wish your death had been as painless as his once we're through here." Behind Lucius' words, Bellatrix's maniacal laugh could be heard echoing around the school.

She knew he wasn't lying.

Hermione had never wished she was dead before, but she found herself wishing she could switch places with her best friend. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to make it bleed, trying to focus on that pain instead of the newly-placed one on her heart. Tears freely slipped down her cheeks.

Ron was screaming, louder and in more pain than she had ever heard him. He had been more composed looking at his dead brother's body. His pain was the final straw for Hermione; she squeezed her eyes shut.

She remembered how just over an hour ago, she had been praying the same thing she was now. _It's a trick, it's not real. It's not real. Harry isn't dead._

Her wishes had come true before. She hoped they did again.

She only opened her eyes again when she heard people screaming for Ron to stop.

_Ron._

Blind with grief and anger, he was rushing towards Lucius, arm outstretched with his wand. Hermione gaped at him; this had to be some sort of trick.

_It's not real. Not real. This isn't real._

She tried to scream at him, but the silencing spell kept her from doing so. How could he do this? He was gonna get himself killed. Didn't he care about that? Care about how it would make his family feel? What about how she would feel? Stop Ron, please. Please stop.

He didn't. Ron cast a killing spell, but it fell flat.

Hermione watched helplessly as Lucius disarmed him. He looked bored.

"Incarcerous." A few half-hearted flicks from Lucius' wand later and Ron was kneeling in front of her, bound together by thick ropes. He was just to the left of Harry's body; he could probably reach out and touch his best friend's arm.

No, no, no. This isn't real.

"Weasley. Always been second to Potter. Constantly running around in his shadow. Even in death, I suppose." Hermione tried to think of a wandless spell to help Ron. Her mind was blank for the first time in her life.

"I must say, I've been waiting for this moment a long, long time. The anticipation has been difficult, but it will make your death just that much sweeter."

Butterflies were slamming against Hermione's rib cage. They were nothing like the ones she usually had when looking at Ron. Those made her feel giddy and blush, and say stupid things when she got flustered. Those butterflies showed up when he touched her arm, or said her name, or protected her.

That was nothing like she felt now. The butterflies currently residing in her abdomen seemed to take nips out of her pounding heart with every flutter of their wings. These butterflies hurt.

"Since you wanted to play hero, I'll make an example out of you. In case anyone else is thinking about rushing out here." Lucius dragged the tip of his wand across Ron's neck. Hermione's ears rung with the sound of Molly sobbing mixed with George's threats that were tossed harmlessly at Lucius. She couldn't think of anything worse.

"Crucio."

Ron's body jerked around, emitting low, horrible noises that made Hermione want to focus on Molly instead. She tried to look away from Ron, but a cold, calloused hand pushed her head back in place.

Malfoy was forcing her to watch.

So, with tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat, she did. She watched Ron's body spasm and shake as he was crucio'd for what felt like hours. Then she watched as her best friend and first love had his legs brutally ripped off his body by Greyback; she watched the skin between his hip and thigh tear into two. She watched as the same thing happened to his arms. She watched them being tossed aside, like they meant nothing; like they weren't the limbs of a human being. She watched the blood pour out of him like the crimson sunset that was spreading across the sky.

And she listened. She listened to the sound of flesh ripping, bones cracking, and the sobs of a boy who didn't deserve the pain he was in. Despite the fact that she couldn't talk, she listened to her own voice try to whisper calming spells, spells to relieve his pain; she shockingly heard herself whisper the killing spell once. She listened to his father beg to take his place. She listened to the sound of Bill and Charlie crying as they lost another one of their brothers that day. She listened to Death Eaters laugh at Ron's murder.

Ron had gone quiet, his vocal cords too damaged to scream any longer. His blood stained not only his clothes, but the clothing of his best friend, who still laid at his side.

Hermione didn't know how he was still alive; he must have lost most of his blood. Probably just another cruelty of the Death Eaters: they kept him alive just to feed him more pain.

Finally, she watched as Lucius prepared to end it; his face far too casual for the man that just tortured an eighteen year old boy to death.

Hermione had thought she was out of tears to cry, but new ones blurred her vision once Lucius raised his wand. She forced them away, needing to see Ron all the way to the end, no matter how horrible it was.

She was glad she did, because Ron was staring right at her. After mustering up enough courage to give him an insincere smile, she mouthed the words ' _I love you.'_ He blinked, and then two words and a green light later, Ron was dead.

"Who else?" The cruel Death Eater now addressed the crowd. There was no sound but people crying, and Hermione thought that she was one of them. She wanted to collapse and never get up. But then she saw Ginny, and Luna, and Cho, and everyone else, and she knew she had to be strong for them. They would look to her to lead them, as they had done with Harry and Ron. It was time to take a deep breath and plan her next move.

Death Eaters were now pushing people forward, shoving them towards the two bodies in the middle. Ron hadn't been enough for them.

Apparently more examples were to be made that day.

They killed people one at a time; a few went in pairs. This was so that everyone could see what was soon going to happen to them; before they died, they had to watch some of their siblings and friends and teachers die first.

A muggle-born girl, Poppy Ventura, was the first person to go. She was seventeen. A Ravenclaw. Hermione had been in Arithmacy with her. Her mind resurfaced a memory where Poppy had fiercely defended her against Snape; she had gotten detention for a girl she didn't know. Hermione's eyes burned. 

Poppy was placed right in front of Harry and Ron. They used a spell that Hermione had never heard of before; and she was confused when Poppy started screaming. No noticeable effects were happening.

But then Hermione _swore_ that she saw something gray-pink drip out of Poppy's ears. She stopped screaming after a while, and then finally collapsed. The girl was still. More gray and pink goop spilled out of Poppy's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Then her body seemed to liquefy, thinning out into a puddle on the ground. Hermione gaped at the spectacle in horror.

They had melted her from the inside-out.

Hermione threw up, aiming specifically for the shoes of Draco beneath her. She hit her mark.

Lucius had been correct. They would wish that they died as easily and painlessly as Harry did.

Kingsley was slowly beheaded; his head rolled directly towards Hermione's feet. She didn't look down.

Hannah Abbott was eaten alive by Greyback. Hermione focused on the wind blowing through the trees behind her.

Then went Colin Creevey, Padma Patil, and Lavender Brown. They were all burned, skinned, and finally drowned in each other's blood.

Hermione recited books in her head. She went through _Hogwarts: A History_ backwards, trying to focus on the words instead of Lavender spluttering as she choked on Colin's blood.

Hermione forced herself to focus on one sense at a time; like how the cool wind on her tear-stained cheeks pricked like needles. Despite her best efforts, she found it didn't block out the sound of McGonagall screaming as she was thrown over the side of the Hogwarts Bridge. She could have sworn she heard a painful smack at the bottom of the bridge. _Shut up, Hermione. You're imagining things. There's no way you could have heard that._

She went through all the spells she knew in alphabetical order as Arthur Weasley, under the Imperius Curse, was forced to kill Bill, Charlie, Percy, before finally slashing his own neck. Molly watched until she was tossed towards a pack of eager werewolves. Hermione frantically recited spells faster in her head, blankly staring at the deaths of her second family.

More and more bodies piled up in front of the witch, all killed in exceedingly gruesome ways. One of the things that hurt the most was that she didn't know all of their names.

They died for the Order, for the cause, for _her_ cause, but she didn't even know their names.

Hermione felt her hatred for Lucius and the other Death Eaters grow like a trampled flower, nurtured by the blood and carnage of her friends.

At some point, Draco had put his mouth right next to her ear. His breath was warm. All she could think about was how she wanted that to be the last breath he ever took.

"You're the grand finale, mudblood."

Hermione chewed down on the inside of her cheek. The grand finale.

They were going to make her watch all her friends die painful, slow deaths before they killed her.

A quick head count made her realize that mostly her closest friends were left: Hagrid, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Cho Chang, George Weasley, Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas, and Ginny Weasley. Professors Slughorn and Sprout were still alive also.

She didn't have a lot of time to formulate a plan. The Death Eaters were killing them off faster, too impatient. They wanted to get to her sooner.

The grand finale.

Hermione couldn't do much because her arms and legs were still useless. She didn't even have her wand. Even if she got someone else's attention, she wouldn't be able to communicate because of the silencing charm. What the fuck was she supposed to do?

_C'mon, Hermione. You're smart. Brightest witch of your age._

George was standing the closest to her. She stared at him until he made eye contact with her. For half a second, his eyes fluttered down to his side, near his hip. Hermione narrowed her eyes and bit back a gasp: he still had his wand.

Death Eaters were stupider than she thought.

Her mind raced as she pushed herself to think of a plan. Quickly.

Dean was about to be brought towards the middle.

George was shifting his wand into his hand, and Hermione realized she had no time to think. She swallowed down the bile rising in her throat; her mouth tasting like cotton. She knew that as a Gryffindor she was supposed to be brave, but she was terrified. All she could think about was how if she and George were unsuccessful, then her friends would pay the price.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, squaring her jaw. She thought of all she and Harry and Ron and everyone else had sacrificed to get here. To win.

No matter what it took, she refused to go down without a fight.

She tried her burning spell again, but this time at a different Death Eater. It worked. His robes and cloak burst into flames, causing a distraction. Everyone focused on the fire; temporarily making all the Death Eaters loosen their grip, and and lower their guard.

George smacked his head into the chin of the Death Eater that was restricting him before immediately stunning him.

Hermione wildly started to squirm as hard as she could again. It wasn't much but she could manage a little movement. Her eyes were wide, hoping George would notice her before Draco did.

"Relashio!" George yelled, and suddenly she dropped to the ground. She still couldn't move, so she lay limp on the ground for a moment before George sent a few more spells at her.

Hermione stumbled to her feet, swaying side-to-side for a moment. Shaking legs struggled to support her weight.

Draco had his wand pointed right at her face. Hermione glared at him.

"What next, mudblood? Potter can't save you now." Draco sneered at her. She shook with anger before disarming him with a wandless spell.

Hermione snatched his wand from midair. He grabbed her arms and pulled her near to him, trying to retake his wand from her. His fingers dug into her flesh, but she barely felt it. All she could think about was how he was gloating over the fact that her friends were dead.

Her head slammed into the jawline of Malfoy, and she couldn't help but gasp at the immediate pain that spread throughout her temple. But there was no time to stop her attacks.

She stomped on his foot again, before turning to face him. Draco was fuming, but disoriented as he cradled his injured face.

"This is for Harry, you fucking asshole. Sectumsempra!" Hermione had scolded Harry for using the same spell a couple years ago. She hated feeling hypocritical; Harry was dead and here she was doing the same thing she had reprimanded him for. But she didn't regret it when she saw blood spurt through the blond's clothes. He collapsed at her feet.

"Petrificus Totalus." Hermione added as an afterthought. She didn't want him to come near her while she figured out her next move.

She took a risk and spun around to see what was happening with the others. They all had their wands back and were starting to fight; George's doing, she thought.

A few yards away, George was sending a few Death Eaters flying over the edge of the Hogwarts Bridge. The horror of his change in spell choices didn't register in Hermione's mind. He had been one of the ones saying they shouldn't kill Death Eaters only days before.

They made eye contact for a few precious moments before he nodded. _Go,_ he was saying. _Go. I'll get the others out of here._

She shook her head frantically. Death itself would have to tear her away from this courtyard. No.

George sent some curses behind her, presumably at Death Eaters, screaming at her to go. She stared lamely at him. Then at the mangled mass of dead bodies in front of her. Her eyes drifted back to her friends that were still alive. She looked at Ginny and Luna and Neville. They looked exhausted.

George was now running up to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.

"Get out of here, Hermione. Now. I'll get them out of here."- He gestured at the people behind him - "You're the smartest of us, you'll figure out what to do. Go!" He shoved her away, turning back to help Cho fight off a circle of Death Eaters.

Hermione looked at all of her friends one last time, wondering if she was leaving them all for dead, before disapparating.


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Hermione felt solid ground beneath her feet, she collapsed.

She had apparated to the first place she had thought of: The Burrow. A poor choice, she knew, considering that the Death Eaters could definitely find out where she was. She thought of when Bellatrix had set fire to it a couple Christmases ago.

That's when Hermione had found out that war was personal. It affected her specifically; war was not picky about who it harmed. This became clearer to her every day from that December on.

She allowed herself to have a few minutes to lay on the floor, too exhausted to care.

Defeated. Weak. Stupid.

_You left your friends there to die_ , said her inner cynic. _You killed them. George and Luna and Neville are dead because of your selfishness._

Hermione forced herself to bare all the humiliation and shame from what she had done. Some part of her reminded her that she was more helpful this way; she could gather a group of survivors and find a way to defeat Voldemort.

How arrogant, she thought. That a seventeen year old witch could take down Voldemort. If Harry couldn't, someone with specific ties to Voldemort himself, how could she?

Harry.

She scrambled up from the floor so quickly that her head spun. Eyes only seeing black, she gasped for air.

Her lungs weren't working. They hurt. Suddenly it was impossible to breathe, it hurt to think, it hurt to remember.

He was dead. Harry Potter was dead.

Her best friend. Her brother.

Gone.

Hermione forced air down her throat as she fell against the door frame. Everyone was gone. So many of her friends had just been brutally murdered in front of her without a second thought. The ones she hadn't seen die were probably being slaughtered right now.

She hated Lucius Malfoy.

Swallowing back her memories and tears and pain, she steadied her legs. She had to move on, at least for now. Unless she wanted a Death Eater to come and rip the limbs off her body one-by-one, she knew she should probably cast protection spells.

While she walked outside, the witch pretended not to notice abandoned broomsticks lying in Molly's garden, never to be touched by their owners again.

She pulled her wand out of its hiding place in her pocket before whispering the enchantments.

_Protego totalum. Salvio Hexia. Muffliato. Cave inimicum._

Her mind somewhere else, she was glad these spells had become like second nature to her.

She had practiced them quite a lot.

Once satisfied with her protective spells, Hermione trudged back inside. To keep her from bursting back into hysterics, she knew she had to keep herself busy. There would be time for grieving later. Right now, she needed to start planning her next steps.

She took a look in the mirror on her left. It was grimy and dusty and cracked, but Hermione could see enough to know she looked horrid.

A mixture of blood and dirt was caked all over her hollow cheeks and forehead. Her lip was busted; it was swollen and bloody. Cuts and bruises were littered all over her face and neck. Her arm was oozing and blistering from her backfired spell. She knew that wasn't even the full extent of her injuries by the pain in her legs.

Her outward appearance matched how she felt on the inside. Everything was hot, red, and angry. The pain seeped through her skin and melted into her bones.

It felt like her body was screaming at her. _How could you put me through so much in one day?_

Hermione tore her eyes away from her gruesome reflection to head upstairs. The Burrow had been her second home for years now; she knew every inch, every nook and cranny. She knew that all medicinal supplies were under the bathroom sink. In the blue basket to the left of Fred's miscellaneous items.

Fred.

Another sharp pang of anguish hit her. Fuck. Was this going to happen every time she remembered a new loss?

She hoped not. There were too many for that to be a regular occurrence.

Hermione dragged herself up the numerous staircases, making sure to skip the third step on the last staircase. Fred and George had often used it to play pranks. She remembered the time Mrs. Weasley had stepped _just_ the wrong way; the step disappeared and Mrs. Weasley found herself tripping up the stairs. Molly yelled a lot, but never louder than she had that day.

_I wish she was here to patch up my wounds_. Hermione pushed away the thought while simultaneously pushing open the bathroom door.

Carefully, she pulled the basket from under the sink, not wanting to disturb anything besides what she needed. As if they were going to come back and be annoyed their possessions were messed up.

Hands trembling, she peeled her clothes off so that she was only left in her undergarments. Her clothes were drenched in blood, though not all of it her own. It had soaked through the fabric and left a sticky, scarlet residue on her skin. She instantly had a strong desire to shower.

_Fix your injuries first. Then you can shower, Hermione. Look at your your leg._

She didn't want to, but she looked down to examine her thigh. Draco had slashed it deeply, and hastily; the wound showed just how angry he had been while creating it. It was an inch or so deep, but not too wide. Blood was still trickling out of the cut. The skin around it was so swollen and irritated that Hermione had a newfound appreciation for her magic. She didn't think Muggle medicine could easily fix something like this.

Hermione gently traced her wand over the wound, whispering _Vulnera Sanentur_ under her breath. The flesh started to close up, a thin red line still visible. No matter; it made her feel better that she didn't get away completely unharmed. She deserved to go through just a smidge of what everyone else was.

Rummaging through the medicine basket, she found a small bottle of dittany. It was almost empty. It made her pause; would they be angry if she used it? But then, with a pained sigh, she realized.

Hermione poured everything left from the bottle onto her burned arm.

She was thankful for the Healing magic she had studied in her spare time. It hadn't been a lot, there had been no way for her to practice, but she easily learned the different potions and spells. Her memory came in handy now; all the glass bottles in the basket had no descriptions on them. You could only tell what it was by the smell and color.

She used some medicine from a blue bottle on her smaller injuries: cuts, scrapes, and bruises. A few more drops of medicine on the scars that were left behind. _Episkey_ fixed her split lip.

Done.

Except she felt like her pain hadn't subsided. There were still some wounds that hadn't been healed. Ones that wouldn't be fixed for a long time, and no amount of dittany would be able to heal them.

These were wounds that were deep enough to reach her heart, rubbing it raw with every move she made. These were wounds that took the shape of Harry and Ron.

Her skin suddenly felt painfully itchy. Twitching fingers involuntarily started to dig into her flesh as an attempt to curb her discomfort. She needed to get the blood off her. Now.

But it felt wrong to use the Weasley's shower, like she was invading their privacy. She felt like a stranger in the home that she knew better than her own.

Hermione reminded herself for the tenth time in the past five minutes that the Weasleys weren't coming back. Most of them had died in front of her, and the others were probably dead by now. She could shower and no one would ever know.

So she took off her remaining clothing, turned on the hot water, and forced herself to step in. The water was hot enough to turn her skin bright red, and she reveled in the way it smarted against her recently healed wounds.

For a while, she couldn't do anything but stand there. Facing the shower head, trying to work out her feelings from the day. Trying to gain control of her emotions. She couldn't. She gave up and slowly started to rub the dried blood off her body.

Red water disappeared down the drain. She looked normal, not like she had just been in battle a few hours ago.

But she didn't feel normal, she still felt dirty and damaged and dead. It was impossible to scrub her soul clean but she could try. Hermione hadn't often met a challenge she couldn't overcome.

Soon Hermione was replacing her stale, metallic, sweaty scent with a light, flowery one. She realized she had used Ginny's body wash. She almost dropped the bottle out of surprise. It hurt, but the smell still partially healed a part of the witch's broken soul.

_Oh, Ginny. Please...please be okay._

Hermione scrubbed her skin harder.

Tired of feeling powerless and desolate, she centered her mind on things she had control over. Her plan for what to do next.

As she rinsed out her hair, some of Lucius' first words echoed in her mind.

_"Harry Potter may have succeeded in destroying the Dark Lord's physical body, but he is not dead. And it won't be long before he's standing here again."_

Thinking of what that could possibly mean was the first step in moving forward. But they didn't make any sense; how could someone not be physically there, but still be alive?

Hermione tried to think of the subtext beneath the words. Find some hidden meaning. But they only swam around in her head, mushing into mismatched phrases that meant nothing.

She felt frustrated, but it was better than feeling weak.

It didn't take long for her to finish her shower after that. Her soul still felt black and soiled, but it would take a lot more than hot water to polish it white again.

A wandless spell evaporated all water from her body. Brown eyes stared at bloody clothes. The idea of wearing them again made her grimace. But she had no choice. A spell later and her clothes were blood free, and Hermione reluctantly pulled them back on.

The floorboards creaked under her feet as she allowed them to guide her to a room.

A messy, cluttered bedroom. Too small to be considered cozy. Full of Quidditch posters: the Chudley Cannons. Yellow and orange clashed at every corner, contrasting against the dull gray light coming in through the multiple windows. Molly's handiwork was everywhere: folded quilts on the edge of the bed, wool clothes strewn all over the dusty floors, knitted chair covers. It smelled like rain with a hint of sweetness, like melted candy.

Ron's room.

Hermione tentatively stepped inside. Memories of the three of them in here flooded her mind like a hurricane: destructive and unwanted, but unstoppable.

She let her legs guide her once again, but this time to the dresser. Still feeling like a stranger, she pulled the top drawer open. Jumpers and t-shirts had been tossed carelessly in by their owner. As if they were unimportant.

To Hermione, they were the most important thing in the world.

A maroon jumper with a large 'R' on the front grabbed her attention. It was his Christmas present from his first year, she remembered. She was confused; how could the sweater of an eleven year old boy fit an eighteen year old man? Her mind combed through all the possibilities, needing to know the answer for a reason unbeknownst to her. Then she saw it: the effects of a clothing stretching spell. The frayed edges, worn fabric, stretched-out sleeves. He had stretched it out, probably several times over the years, to keep it. His first Christmas present while he was at Hogwarts.

Her fingers were clutching the scratchy material before she even knew what she was doing.

It was far too big for her; her frame was swallowed by the thick material. She was glad for the false feeling of safety it granted her.

Hermione felt tears start to slip down her cheeks.

_You're so stupid. Stop crying. How much time are you going to waste on grieving today?_

She tried to think back to her last happy moment. But that didn't help. It had been today, in the Chamber of Secrets. With Ron.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to recall every detail clearly. She was in the Chamber under the school. They didn't have a lot of time; they had to destroy the Horcrux. Ron made her do it. Then there was rushing water. It was cold, she was gasping, and she was certain that they would both be dead within a few minutes. But somehow, she felt calmer than she had in weeks. She would be okay: he was with her. Death could try, but he couldn't harm Hermione when Ron was her protector.

Their eyes had met. Seeing each other as the other saw them. 

She stared at him. He kissed her.

She had kissed Krum once, and it had been okay. A good first kiss. But her apprehensiveness of being fourteen and his nervousness hadn't quite made it the experience she had hoped for. 

And she had even kissed Ron before. Back in the summer after fifth year. In fact, they had done more than kiss, but they had decided it was a mistake. Hermione had not _exactly_ felt that way, but Ron stubbornly insisted it shouldn't have happened. A handshake and promise later, they swore to never speak of it again. It was an embarrassment pushed to the very, very back of Hermione's mind. 

This kiss was no mistake. 

It felt like Ron was everywhere, and she suddenly forgot that she was shivering from cold while a battle raged on above them. They both seemed to be trying to show each other the feelings they had hidden for years.

If she tried hard enough, she could still feel his arms around her. Still faintly smell his cologne. Still taste him on her lips.

She wished she had kissed him longer. If only she had known it was the last time she'd get the opportunity.

Hermione tried to quiet her sobs.

Next to the dresser was a small desk. If someone had been unfamiliar with Ron's room, they wouldn't have known what it was at all. The scuffed wood was hidden beneath stacks of papers, worn school books, and small knick-knacks. She hiccuped, mentally prepared herself, and then shuffled over to it.

A small chair was in front of the desk. Hermione sat down. She forced herself to compose her emotions before examining the desk's contents. _No more crying. You're not weak._

She waited a few minutes for her tears to dry. Staring at the drawers in front of her. She had never looked at his things like this; Ron was too private for her to go snooping. But she could now.

Hermione sat there for ages before jumping forward to open two drawers at once. Both were neat, neater than the top of the desk, and they were rather empty. Some of his most important things, she figured.

In one drawer, there was his collection of chocolate frog cards. Hermione almost smiled at his stacks upon stacks of the childish trinket. Of course Ron would choose to keep _these_ safe. Ridiculous as always.

Although it was a comforting reminder of the sweet, naive boy she wanted to remember, what was in the other drawer interested her more.

It was a letter. An unbroken wax seal covered the letter's opening, so it wasn't an old keepsake. No name on the front or back. It was thick, like there were multiple pages enclosed.

Hermione didn't want to open it; it crossed the line from curious to invasive. But the receiver would never open the letter anyways. She was one of the only people left alive that Ron had been close with.

Her two conflicting opinions battled inside her brain. Either she had to make the brave choice, or she had to make the kind one.

The old Hermione would have probably made the kind one. As much as she valued bravery, she thought that when it came to people, you ought to make the kinder decision. The old Hermione wouldn't have opened the letter.

But the new Hermione had been damaged by the war. Her decisions were based off different things now, made more logically. It had become increasingly more difficult to make the kind choice. Mostly because the opportunity to choose it had become scarcer and scarcer. The new Hermione wanted to open it; she had to be brave and see what it said. Maybe she could deliver it to the intended recipient. Do one last favor for her Ron.

Despite wishing she was her old self, she made the predictable brave choice.

She opened it.

When the seal of the letter broke, so did her courage. Regret washed over her. But then she saw her name.

_Dear Hermione._

Written right at the top.

Ron had written her a letter.

A mixture of different feelings replaced her regret, but she couldn't put a name to any of them.

She suddenly didn't really want to read the letter. This would break her. She knew it would. But her fingers unfolded the rest of the letter anyways, gently smoothing out the creases from the page. 

There were three pages in all, worn and crumpled, and filled with the scribbles she knew to be Ron's handwriting. It was messy and covered in ink stains and Hermione had never seen a piece of writing more perfect. 

Deep breath. 

_Dear Hermione,_

_Right now, I'm sitting on my bed at Bill and Fleur's cottage. It's a few days after I left you and Harry. I hope you know that as soon as I left, I wanted to come back. I tried. So many times. But you're too damn good at what you do, Hermione. Your protection spells really are bloody amazing. I couldn't find any trace of you. So I just came here, to try and figure out my next move._

_Which I guess is writing this. Whatever it is. I guess it's everything I wish I could tell you now, because I don't know when I'm going to see you again. If I'm ever going to see you again._

_I have to apologize for a few things first, things I never fully apologized for. First of all, I'm sorry that I left you. You were right, you always are, and I shouldn't have left. I won't stop trying to get back to you, and Harry, and sooner or later, I'll be back. I promise._

_I'm sorry for all of our stupid arguments at school. Blimey, we must have drove Harry mad from all the bickering we did. Don't know how he put up with us. Especially in our fight during fourth year. At the Yule Ball. We never really properly made up, did we? I shouldn't have bothered you about Krum. Again, you were right. I was jealous. You looked bloody gorgeous and I was bloody stupid to not ask you. If we ever get the chance to go to another ball, I want you to come with me._

Hermione was shaking from head to toe as she switched to the next page. Her tears fell steadily, but quietly, and she was careful to protect the pages. 

_In our sixth year, I think I went barking mad. I started dating Lavender Brown. It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the sole purpose of making you jealous. But I must admit, it did work, didn't it? I still have peck marks on my hands from the birds you sent after me._

_Speaking of sixth year, I have to confess something. I know what I said, in the hospital. I said your name, Hermione. I mean, don't get me wrong, I didn't do it on purpose. I'm not that brilliant. Harry told me, later on. He probably thinks I've been so oblivious to my feelings, but I haven't been. Not to you. Never to you._

_Honestly, I was done for the first day on the Hogwarts Express._

_But I knew that I was for sure done for the day you lied to McGonagall for us in our first year. I knew I was done for again when you tried to protect us in the Shrieking Shack in third year. I knew I was done for when I saw just how good you look in periwinkle. I knew I was done for when you kissed my cheek before my first Quidditch game. I knew it when you cried on my shoulder during Dumbledore's funeral, and I wanted to do everything I could to keep you from crying ever again. I knew I was done for when I couldn't stop staring at you during Bill and Fleur's wedding. I knew I was completely, and utterly done for when I heard your screams at Malfoy's._

_I've never been oblivious to you, Hermione. It's always been you._

_I wish I hadn't been such an arse. There are so many things I wanted to say, and to do. But when this war is over, we'll find the time to do it all. There'll be nothing but time. It'll be just you and me, Granger. Just you and me._

_Yours, always,_

_Ron._

Hermione almost set the letter down, in shock of what she had just read, but then she remembered the last page. It was smudged and messy, she almost couldn't read it.

_Bloody hell, I wanted to say this in person, but fuck. Whatever. I may never get the chance._

_I love you. If I never get the chance to say it aloud, I love you. You're the most wonderful, brilliant witch I've ever met. I hope you know that._

_You probably already did. You've always had the annoying habit of finding out things before anyone else could. I love you, Hermione. I love you._

And that was it. The last words Ron would ever say to her.

He loved her. He loved her. 

She had thought so, almost known so, but seeing it confirmed on pen and paper made her heart race. Ron _loved_ her. They had never said that to one another before. The first time she had ever attempted to say it was right before he was killed.

She wasn't even sure if he had seen her mouth it, it had all happened so fast. 

Hermione stared at her lap. Her brain ran laps trying to process what was written. She read it over and over again, a dozen times over, until she had it memorized.

_Knew I was done for. You and me. I love you._

Then her eyes caught a glimpse of something shiny resting on the desk. It was small, and despite there being almost no sunlight, it sparkled. Magic, she guessed. She picked it up and immediately dropped it again.

It was a ring.

It was a simple gold band. Small, modest, and no doubt secondhand but it glittered and shone brighter than any piece of jewelry Hermione had ever owned. 

She had been too preoccupied with the letter to notice the ring fall out of the envelope. She slipped the gold ring on. The metal started to shift and mold to her finger, magically bending around her finger. The _ring_ finger, on her left hand. 

It fit perfectly. 

Hermione lost it. 

She threw the parchment onto the bed, screaming. Screaming and sobbing. All the half-pent up frustration and anger and hurt and loss spilled out of her, faster than she could keep up with. She couldn't think straight. Her muscles twitched, itching to throw something.   
  
She needed to break something instead of being the thing broken. 

So she threw a candle from his bedside table. She punched a hole in the thin wall. Her magic caused papers and books to fly all around the room, smashing into walls. Chaos. 

How could he die? How could the boy that she'd loved for seven years die? Right in front of her?

How could he leave her? 

And how could Harry let this happen? He had gotten himself killed. Gotten Ron killed. Gotten McGonagall and Fred and Tonks killed, all of them. 

Hermione wished she had been killed first. She didn't care if she suffered either. Anything to prevent seeing what she had: piles of body parts, blood-stained paths, horrified faces of people watching their friends being murdered. 

"How could you? How could you?" She shrieked, throwing a cup into the mirror across from her. "Come back, come back, come back. Please." Crashes echoed in her head. 

She cried until her throat was raw, torn. Her voice screamed until it cracked, and was finally silent. 

She collapsed onto Ron's bed, the one thing she had left untouched. It was freezing but she didn't care. Her body was burning with rage and grief anyways. 

Hermione welcomed the cold with heavy eyes and an aching heart. 

Snuggling into the patched pillow and icy covers, she folded the precious papers and tucked them back into their envelope. The envelope took its spot next to her on the bed. Safe. 

She was so tired. Sleeping was one of the last things Hermione wanted to do; she had to be ready. Ready for someone to come and kill her like they killed everyone else. 

But maybe she didn't care. Maybe she had made a mistake while putting up the wards. Her insides twisted when she realized that the new Hermione didn't even care if she had. 

Maybe death was as welcome as the cold. 

_Just go to bed, Hermione. Go to sleep. Turn your brain off._

Hermione lacked many things, but strong willpower was not one of them. She obeyed, and fell asleep. But, the rebellious side of her ignored one part: she did not turn her brain off. She would not sleep peacefully tonight. 

Instead, she dreamt of icy hair, blue baskets, and gold rings.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter - my apologies! I had several midterms last week so I did not get a chance to write much. Not much action yet, but we're getting there :) Thank you for all the support so far! Comments are always appreciated.

Hermione woke with a start. She had been asleep for what simultaneously felt like days and mere minutes. Realistically, though, she knew it had been more like a few hours.

She was confused. Where was she? Why would she be at the Burrow?

Then she looked down, blinking through puffy eyelids at her jumper covered hands, as the realization slammed into her. Oh.

Right.

Yesterday, with its false hope and damning reality, had happened. Accepting this was more difficult than Hermione had imagined it to be. _But I guess you never thought about it too hard, did you?_ _Always just thought that winning would be easy._

She didn't want to get up. The day was too cheery, too optimistic; it didn't match how she felt at all. It was as if the day was celebrating with the Death Eaters. Happy that Harry was dead.

But Hermione sat up anyways, cursing the sunlight as she did so. Her temple felt like someone had taken a hammer to it. Several times.

On the bed sat the letter, undisturbed from her restless sleep. Willpower failing her, she picked up the writing, an annoyed sigh slipping through her lips as she began to read it all over again.

She decided that this time, she would read it with closure in the back of her mind, not grief. A love letter, not a goodbye one.

Because that's what it was. Ron loved her. And that would just have to be good enough for her. Someday, she knew, it would be. Just not today; today was hers to refuse acceptance.

Hermione scanned the mess of a room around her. Shame heated her cheeks, embarrassed at her lack of common sense and inability to control her emotions. Her pride, no matter how little she had left, told her that she ought to get up and undo her actions from yesterday. Preserving the memory of the Burrow was the most important thing right now.

So she fully got out of bed, quickly realizing that she couldn't put her entire body weight on her wounded leg. Even though she had closed the cut the day before, it must have had some magic in it to keep her from fully healing. Draco Malfoy always thought of everything.

After finding her wand, she limped around Ron's room, waving her hands in every direction to try and fix the damage she had done last night. Wandless magic had always been a secret talent of Hermione's. Using that to her advantage, she multi-tasked, cleaning up multiple things at once with several spells at a time.

It only took a few minutes for it to get back to it's normal state of disarray.

Hermione was at a loss for what to do next. Nothing felt right to her. But maybe that was the problem: she was waiting for something to automatically come to her. Things didn't work like that. If she wanted to move on and be useful, she had to be proactive and do it herself. No more waiting around for ideas to float into her mind. She would force them to come to her.

Stumbling around on her one good leg, she went to the bathroom where she had been the night before. Her reflection stared at her in shock, like it was horrified at what it was seeing. Hermione felt the same.

Everything was swollen and puffy. Eyes, skin, hair. Her fair skin was now colored dark shades of blue and purple, and etch marks from her tears still stained her cheeks. But at the same time, everything was lifeless. Pale. Dead.

Hermione glared at the girl in the mirror, forcing herself to be angry at her instead of anyone else. Angry for how she looked, for how she felt. That she was alive. It made her feel a little better.

After relieving herself, finding a spare toothbrush in the closet, and finger-combing through her hair, she found herself running out of things she could do in this one specific room. Not another shower, not yet. Thinking, she pulled on her full outfit from the day before, tugging Ron's sweater back over her t-shirt.

No, there was nothing else for her here. She had to move on.

Her stomach growled.

Hermione let out a loud huff of annoyance. Sometimes she quite hated being human, being forced to succumb to mortal things such as eating. It felt too ordinary, to go down to the kitchen and cook something. She was still a stranger. She didn't want to.

But she'd be no good to anyone half-starved to death. What she had to do was going to be difficult enough. She did not need her own stubbornness hindering her abilities.

Thus commenced phase two of her post-battle plan: finding food and forcing herself to eat it.

The first part would be much easier than the second. Molly had always kept the wooden cupboards stuffed with cookies and crackers, the fridge crammed with meals prepped in advance, and fresh produce filled bowls all across the counters. She knew she would have no trouble finding something to eat.

But _actually_ eating it was completely different. Yes, she was hungry, but her stomach was too twisted to handle anything.

_Shut up. Go eat. Tell your legs to move, and go._

Obeying the voice inside her head, she took one last look in the mirror before walking downstairs, once again skipping that one trick step.

Feeling ridiculous, she stumbled into the kitchen. Her eyes, that had once sparkled with childish hopefulness but were now a dull brown, scanned the room for something quick and easy to eat. Something that wouldn't take much effort.

Eventually, fresh bread caught her attention. She could make something with that.

Hermione walked across the tiled floor to the cabinets above the stove. Finding peanut butter on a crooked shelf, and subsequently strawberry jam in the refrigerator, she settled on the idea of a PB&J. It reminded her of kindergarten. Of her parents, naivety, and unhindered happiness. When her problems consisted solely of skinned knees and unshared toys.

She sighed and then found a butter knife in a drawer. Of course, magic could do this in half a second, but Hermione liked doing things herself sometimes. Reminded her that although she was one hundred percent a witch, there would always be a part of her that was muggle. And no matter how many slurs were spat at her, or how many scars she collected, she would always hold that part of herself dear.

It gave her something to do while she tried to analyze yesterday's events again. But she focused on something other than the misery it had brought; this time she thought of what it had given her.

For some inexplicable reason, her thoughts drifted to Draco Malfoy. She frowned. Draco. Hermione had thought she knew him, that she could predict his next move. She had been able to for a while, she _knew_ he wouldn't betray them back at his home when the Snatchers caught the Trio.

But yesterday, he had proved that no Malfoy could be called predictable.

First he joined the Death Eaters. But then he helped Harry; he had given him his wand. But almost immediately afterwards, he had rejoined Voldemort and forced Hermione to watch her friends' die. He may have relentlessly tortured and teased her during their school days, but she would have never guessed he'd end up like this.

No, Malfoy was definitely not predictable.

Hermione huffed out loud in annoyance. Her sandwich now complete, she pulled a chair out from the table to eat. This had been Arthur's chair; head of the table, head of the family. Hastily redirecting her thoughts back to the blond again, she squeezed her eyes shut. Tried to focus.

Maybe she _had_ been right. Maybe his actions back at the Manor were more consistent with the most recent than she had thought.

It all came back to his cowardice.

He was too scared that it wasn't Harry to call Voldemort. He was too scared of losing during the Battle to pick a side. He just chose whichever one was most convenient at the moment.

Draco Malfoy was a coward.

Perhaps it was just her foolish Gryffindor mindset but she couldn't believe that one person could be so...weak.

Malfoy could pretend all he wanted; Hermione knew what he really was. A scared little boy that had no real opinions of his own.

Opening her eyes, she started eating. The bread and preserves tasted like thick lead and it caught in her throat. She swallowed it anyway before taking another bite.

Sitting at the table, eyes wide open, she then began to reminisce about her happier times at the Burrow. Mornings they had all shared. Mr. Weasley would ask her something about Muggles, and she would laugh while sharing a look with Ron before answering. Fred and George would pull at least two pranks on Percy before Molly had set the toast down on the table. Harry would stare at Ginny until she looked at him, unashamedly staring back. Their happiness, everyone's happiness, was unmatched on those mornings.

The memory was painful in a comforting way, and Hermione held onto it for as long as possible, until she had pored over every single detail of it.

Her mind drifted back to the Battle, narrowing in on Lucius this time. He had said that Voldemort was gone, physically at the very least.

That's what happened before, Hermione thought. The first time Voldemort tried to kill Harry. The curse rebounded and it had destroyed Voldemort.

But he hadn't died. Why not?

_Now that's a dumb question. It was because of the horcruxes, of course._

Hermione finished her sandwich, dusting the crumbs off her fingers. She did not know a lot about horcruxes, but she knew a little. She knew it would take a toll on even the greatest wizard or witch. She knew Voldemort was the only wizard who had dared to split his soul more than once.

He had made, whether by accident or on purpose, eight horcruxes.

His diary. The ring. The locket. Cup and diadem. Nagini. Harry. The part of soul still left in Voldemort.

Those objects had saved his life. But they were gone, destroyed. She had killed the cup herself, seen the soul leave the object.

Her question remained unanswered.

Hermione stood up, flicking her wand a couple times to take the dishes to the sink and wash them. He was alive. The horcruxes were gone.

Why had they only thought there were seven?

Her brain hurt with the effort of recalling the memory. It had been so long ago, and the details were fuzzy. _Think, think, think._

Voldemort, then Tom, had asked Slughorn how horcruxes were made. If it was possible to make more than one. If it was possible to make seven. Slughorn had been shocked, and Tom had seen his suspicion, so he dropped it. Seven horcruxes.

But had that number ever been truly confirmed? How did they know every single one had been killed?

They didn't, Hermione realized. They didn't know.

All they had done was make some educated guesses. There was no solid, undeniable proof that there were only seven.

No.

Harry had been connected to Voldemort. He knew what each one was, he could practically hear the object's thoughts. He would have known if there were more.

A hazy echo of fifth year floated across Hermione's eyes. The Ministry. A rescue mission for a false reality. Voldemort could control what Harry saw, what Harry knew. If he didn't want him to know that more horcruxes were out there, which seemed likely, then he wouldn't.

There could be a dozen more out there and they would never know.

Panic, the kind she hadn't felt since the first time she heard they had to kill the horcruxes, hit her. It wasn't over.

Hermione threw up her PB&J.

More horcruxes. At least one. And she would have to destroy it all alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione sat in the kitchen, frozen with shock and confusion, for several minutes. Her eyes glazed over from staring at the table for so long. No. She was mistaken.

A scream tore from the back of her throat, despite her best attempts to swallow it down. How is this possible? She was supposed to be the smart one, the clever one; the one that knew everything. Of course this would be the one thing she wouldn't have figured this out. Of course.

She held her head in her hands, rubbing the palm of her hands against her eyes. Stars and colors blurred her vision, swirling around like a whirlpool in front of her brain. This would complicate the already complex situation. She needed to do something soon; she couldn't save anyone without destroying the Horcrux first. Otherwise, even if she managed to free some of her friends, if she was killed then there was a possibility that Voldemort would never be destroyed. No one else knew it existed. There was no time to find or explain the situation to anyone else. The Horcrux could only be killed by her.

Hermione's muscles moved on their own, making her stand up so fast that the chair she had been sitting in fell over. Impatiently, she snatched her wand off the table and fixed the mess in the kitchen. In the short time she had been at the Burrow, half of the Wizarding World could have been destroyed. It was imperative to leave and find out some news.

But how could she? They were sure to have taken over areas like Diagon Alley, she couldn't go there. Every wizarding area would be overrun with Death Eaters just waiting for the chance to kill her.

That meant she'd have to go to a Muggle area. A big city, most likely, as it'd be the easiest place to find information.

Hermione decided to go to the middle of London.

She apparated upstairs into Ginny's room. It was similar in size and decoration to Ron's, with Quidditch posters on every wall, but it was significantly neater. All her clothing was hanging up in the closet, making it easy for Hermione to find what she needed.

First, new shoes. Hermione's were ruined. Once white, they were now colored a dark red. She found a pair of worn trainers in the back of Ginny's closet, along with some warm socks in a dresser drawer. They were a little tight but they would do. If she had to run, Hermione wanted to make sure that her shoes would stay on.

Next, she replaced her dirty t-shirt. A black short-sleeve went under Ron's jumper. Hermione hesitated, clutching her old shirt in her hands. Eventually, she burned it with a swish of her wand, not wanting to hold onto any reminders of the past.

It was only May, and there was no reason to put on a jacket. Especially when she was wearing a sweater. She wished it was winter, as a jacket would allow her to remain hidden. It was also the easiest way for her to conceal her wand while keeping it accessible. Instead, she settled for slipping it inside the waistband of her jeans, covering it with the jumper.

Then it was time. She was scared. It wasn't certain that she'd ever come back here.

Her nerves twisted her stomach. She swept them into a neat pile, sending them up to rest behind her brain. There they were covered by logic and reason. She convinced herself she'd be fine. After all, she always has been.

She focused on a familiar street in London and then apparated.

The city was bustling with people on their way to work or school, and no one noticed a teen girl jumping into the middle of the walkway. This was both good and bad. It meant Death Eaters could blend in without much effort.

But she could too.

Immediately, she was looking around for a coffee shop or small store. Some place that would sell newspapers or have national news on the television.

Hermione didn't dare stand still for long. She pushed through the crowds, taking in her surroundings.

It was warm. Happy. Even with the grey dreariness London always provided, everything seemed too bright. Too loud. She wouldn't be able to hear if anyone cast a spell at her. Only feel it when it hit her.

Hermione wished for a thunderstorm.

It didn't take long for her to find a cafe on the corner of the street. She hurried over to it, scanning the crosswalks and cars as she did so. No Death Eaters. Not yet.

A bell jingled above her when she opened the door. The cafe was small, small enough that she could see everything inside as soon as she stepped in. Six customers were inside. A couple sharing a chocolate pastry. A mother and child sitting in a colorful booth, sipping steaming beverages. A young woman studying.

Hermione felt a sense of déjà vu. It was like a reminder of who she used to be, several years ago. When her biggest problems consisted of exams. When her summers were spent getting ahead on the next year's homework.

Anger pawed at her spine. Why was the fate of the world resting on her shoulders? Childishly, she felt cheated. It was unfair. Now thoroughly pitying herself, she stomped inside, no longer feeling like calmly walking. But then she saw the last customer. An elderly man, reading a newspaper.

A newspaper.

Excitement replaced anger. But that too was soon taken over by disappointment. There were none for sale inside.

She weighed her options. Either she could leave and find a newspaper somewhere else, or she could ask to borrow the old man's.

Both opened her up to the possibility of being attacked. What was once a sweet, innocent elderly man could turn into a murderous Death Eater in the blink of an eye.

But she didn't really have a choice.

Hermione kept her hands firmly at her side, already thinking of the best spells she could use if it came to that. Ones that would help her while not harming any of the innocent people in the room with her. That is, if they weren't also Death Eaters.

She blinked these thoughts away while walking.

"Excuse me, sir, when you're finished with that-" here she nodded her head towards the paper - "could I borrow it?" Her voice sounded strong and casual, not revealing how anxious she was feeling.

She tried not to gasp when she noticed the front page.

He gave her a kind smile and handed her the paper. "It's yours." He nodded before standing up. Half a minute later, the bell above the door was jingling again. Hermione sat in the now empty booth.

She unfolded the newspaper, smoothing out any creases. It felt likes she was back at school, scanning the Daily Prophet for any news about Voldemort. She looked in the most obvious place first: the front page.

A family had been found a few towns over. Dead.

Yes, she decided, this was definitely the work of Lucius. A family abducted from their home, with chilling easiness. Their bodies were discovered this morning, right in time to make headlines. Completely mutilated.

That was no accident.

Hermione was so engrossed in her work that she didn't notice the waitress coming over to ask if she wanted anything to drink. Reflexes snapped and her hand went to her hip, slipping underneath the jumper to grab at her wand. _God, Hermione. She probably thinks you're crazy._

Hermione managed to hide her jumpiness with a polite smile and an order of a cappuccino. If her nervousness had been noticed, the waitress disregarded it with a promise of being back with her beverage soon. 

After a few minutes, nothing else could be gleamed from the beginning article. She had found what she was looking for right away: Lucius' handiwork. The gruesome end of the Muggles confirmed it.

Lucius was wasting no time. As soon as she was done here, she needed to leave. That realization made her flip pages with a new fervor.

Hermione scoured the pages for key words - murder, death, magic, and the accompanying hundreds of synonyms. Every word was important; each one could have a double meaning. Sometimes in the Wizarding World, a witch or wizard would put magical news in an inconspicuous corner of the paper. In a place where no Muggle would find it suspicious: it'd only catch the attention of someone like herself.

One hour, thirty pages, three bitten fingernails, and a drink and a half later, Hermione meticulously set the paper down. There was nothing else. But she was not disappointed.

She threw some money on the table, folded the paper and tucked it under her arm. Then she stood up and left without another glance around.

The day remained ignorantly cheery. Warm sunshine kissed her exposed skin with enough passion to burn. Yet, she could still sense the sharp pricks of alarm creeping past the heat, freezing over any comfort that began to form.

Manners forgotten, Hermione pushed her way through the crowds until she came across an alley. She walked backwards until she was hidden in the dark. Five seconds was all it took for her to be back at the Burrow.

It didn't look like anyone had been there. She was safe, she thought. For now. But it was time to leave.

Frantically, she darted around the house. In and out of rooms, throwing clothes and food into a bag. She missed her old beaded bag. There wasn't much room in her newer one, and no time to cast an Undetectable Extension Charm.

Ten minutes passed. Her legs felt like jelly from the amount of times she'd run up and down the stairs. Finding herself in Ginny's room once again, she stared at the closet. _You're wasting time_ , she chastised. _Just grab it._

Hesitation weighed down the room. The world seemed to wait on bated breath.

Hermione cut through the gratuitous tension and added a jacket to her pile.

As she disapparated downstairs, she realized how much worse it was to be alone doing this. How much worse it was to inure herself to the dangers of Horcrux hunting when she was the sole scavenger.

Bitterly, she cast the protection charms again. And again.

It did nothing, of course. Layering spells on top of each other like this couldn't really help. Not if the Death Eaters came. But it brought her a bit of solace, and that was enough reason for her right now.

Twenty minutes had passed. Time to leave.

Hermione forced herself to walk outside, leaving her second home. Forever.

Her sentimentality made her sick. She wished she was more like Harry - he'd been the least sensitive of their trio.

Still, she built up a false sense of detachment by reminding herself that she'd always have the memories. The image of Ron and Harry and all the other Weasleys couldn't be ruined, even if something happened to the Burrow. No one could take that from her. No one.

Twenty-five minutes. One last glance. Hermione disapparated.

Tight squeezes constricted her breathing. Her vision went dark. The pressure was almost too much.

And then it was over.

She was standing in the woods, like she had so often before. Another spot where she'd gone camping with her parents years and years ago. It was far enough away that Death Eaters wouldn't immediately come looking for her here, but close enough that apparation would still be attainable.

Hermione cast her usual protection charms. At this point, her brain and wand seemed to automatically begin the spells after apparating somewhere. It took thirty minutes of spell-casting for her to feel even remotely safe.

Then came setting up camp.

While hunting had been miserable before, it would be even worse this time. There was no tent. There was no company. There was only Hermione and the ubiquitous silence.

More spells were cast, allowing Hermione to build a rickety shelter made of large branches and mud. She transfigured some large leaves into a makeshift tarp and placed it at the top of the shelter. Water repellent spells were next - it may be sunny now, but she did not want to wake up at midnight to rain pouring down on her.

More charms were cast, more nature transfigured, and a dozen different wards were placed before Hermione was satisfied. And exhausted.

Her exhaustion was partially because more magic had left her body than entered. She had given it no time to recover. Casting innumerable amounts of spells was something most wizards would advise against. Especially in such a short period of time.

That was partially why they lost the Battle of Hogwarts, in her opinion anyway. While the fatigue had been expected, it was strong. Stronger than normal. Hermione couldn't figure that part of it out and she didn't further enervate her mind by dwelling on it.

She relaxed against the base of a tree. The sunlight began to dwindle, causing the sky to erupt into multiple shades of rosy-orange. Though the sunset was lovely, it diminished the world's cheeriness. Sitting all alone in the woods only amplified that feeling.

Hermione wasn't scared, but she was cautious. She had to trust the wards, because if she didn't then she wouldn't sleep. No rest meant not thinking straight; not thinking straight meant not finding the horcrux.

She pulled a container of strawberries out of her bag. Her favorite. Molly's were the best. Fruit that was grown magically already tasted better than Muggle-grown produce, but somehow it just being in the Weasley's garden made it better than the rest.

Hermione allowed herself to not worry for a minute. It was selfish, irresponsible. But, she reasoned with herself, when was the last time you did something solely for yourself? It wouldn't harm anything to take a break and breathe. To listen to the crickets chirp, the breeze whistle. To see fireflies lighting up the darkness. To not worry if her magic was strong enough or if someone was around. There was no harm.

So, in the middle of the woods, under her moonlit shelter, eating strawberries until she felt sick, Hermione Granger fell asleep. Selfishly.

───────────────

The next few days progressed similarly. There were no encounters with Death Eaters. No close calls. Almost no danger, besides the inherent danger of being a teenage girl camping alone.

She apparated to three different locations, traveling by foot the rest of the time. Apparating too far, too quickly was foolish. But being stationary was even more so.

It was difficult, considering she still walked with a limp from Malfoy's curse. But as she didn't want to journey too far, her debilitation wasn't too disappointing.

The window of selfishness was closed. Now it was time to accept the burden she was forced to carry.

Hermione started making a list. Of every single thing the horcrux could be.

It was a long list of nothing.

On the first day, she had written down forty-three possibilities. Most were insignificant ideas: a blade of grass, a rock, a grain of sand. These were unlikely, considering Voldemort's formulaic flare for drama. It had to be something bigger.

However, the more salient items on the list were few. Voldemort had already created horcruxes with the things most precious to him. Maybe he _had_ taken the unpredictable route and placed his soul into a seemingly pointless object.

"No." Hermione spoke aloud. "No. That doesn't sound like him at all." She tugged at the roots of her hair. Impatience and frustration threatened to break down her walls of determination. She was getting nowhere.

The worthless list had grown to eighty-six by day four. But, to her growing dismay, the items joined the insignificant part of the list.

Even if she was wrong about Voldemort's lack of grandeur, how would she find something so small? It would be impossible to find, for example, a specific tree branch and destroy it. And at this point, she had no means of killing whatever it was.

On day five, she took a chance and went to Diagon Alley. She needed to see what was happening for herself.

Surprisingly, not much had changed. Except she noticed a few people were missing.

Muggle-borns.

Although she didn't know _everyone_ that was currently in Diagon Alley, everyone she could see was either pure-blood or half-blood. Her imagination took the reigns; horrible images of her muggle-born friends being tortured to death trampled over every other thought in her head.

But realistically, she knew there wasn't enough time for them all to be killed one-by-one. It was more likely they were killed all at once. Their bodies were probably chucked into a mass grave in the middle of nowhere. After all, the Death Eaters didn't view them as truly human.

They would have no funerals. No acknowledgment. No respect.

Muggle-borns didn't deserve gravestones.

Hermione gave herself five minutes to stay in the Alley. That was all she needed. Any more time and her chances of being seen would increase.

She took quick glances at everything, setting it aside to be reviewed later.

All the shops owned by muggle-borns had been burned to the ground. Nothing was left except an empty space, still smoldering. Hermione double-checked her Disillusionment Charm and hurried past.

Posters with her face on it were everywhere. Rewards had been offered. The amount of galleons made her jaw drop. No one would refuse to turn her in if they found her.

Her main purpose for coming was to get more news, but three out of the five minutes had passed and she hadn't found any. Reading the muggle newspaper was not enough to satiate her theories. She knew there was more going on, but she couldn't talk to anyone. The only source of information would be the Daily Prophet.

Her self-imposed deadline loomed over her head as she scanned the gloomy streets. It took up another full minute of her time to find the newspapers.

She counted down the seconds while hastening down the road. Forty seconds left.

Her hands shook as she stole a copy of the Daily Prophet. Tucking it under her sweater, she popped into an alleyway to disapparate. Fifteen seconds.

Just as she was about to leave, she felt a trickle of warmth cascade down her back. She froze.

Someone had removed the Disillusionment Charm.

At exactly zero seconds, a curse whizzed past her, just missing her right ear.

Hermione whipped around, sending a couple spells of her own at the assailant. It was Augustus Rookwood. He was a Death Eater, but not as terrible as someone like Bellatrix Lestrange.

She could take him.

It must have shown on her face because he threw more curses at her furiously. But his anger overtook his ability to aim and they all missed. Hermione was careful to not allow her resolve to do the same.

She ran further down the alley, sending curses over her shoulder. A Jelly-Legs Jinx made him collapse onto the ground, which made triumph flare up in her gut.

Her hand raised to send another curse at him, immobilizing him so she could safely disapparate, but before she could he had hit her in the side.

The curse only targeted a galleon sized area on the left side of her ribs but it was enough to make her dizzy. She stumbled against the wall. It felt like someone had stabbed her, deep enough to hit bone, and then poured acid inside the wound.

Rookwood was laughing. She could barely hear it.

He came closer to her, lifting his arm. Likely to capture her and take her to Lucius.

"Poor little mudblood. Potter's girl and can't even fight." His voice was low and scratchy and his tone was taunting.

With every last drop of effort she had in her, she thought of the worst curse she could. She sent it flying directly at him.

It hit his raised arm, cleanly slicing it off. The curse was darker magic than she had ever used before, but she didn't regret it. Even when the blood spilled out and he was screaming and his arm was laying useless on the cobblestone.

"I'm not 'Potter's girl.' Never was, and I'm certainly not now." She hissed, clutching her side with one hand and pointing her wand at him with the other. "He wouldn't agree with me using that curse. But he's not here now - you made sure of that."

The noise of the spells ricocheting off the walls and Rookwood's screams would attract unwanted attention. Not bothering to think about it, she cast _Muffliato_ around the alley. No one would be able to hear their dueling. But she couldn't stop anyone from walking past.

The puddle of blood was flowing towards her, but she took a step forwards anyway. He was panting, clearly in pain, but he still managed to snarl at her.

"You won't kill me." He stated, as if he knew her and her abilities.

"No. I won't. But I don't need to. I'm sure Lucius will when you tell him you let me get away with nothing but a nick on my ribs." Hermione wasn't stupid. The pain was probably worse than his was. It was not simply a 'nick.' But she'd die before admitting that.

" _Fulgur Manducare._ " Rookwood sent another curse so suddenly that there was no time for a counter-curse. It hit her in the stomach and made her double over.

It felt like a ball of electricity was buzzing inside her, sending out electrical shocks at random intervals. She had never been struck by lightning but she could guess this is what it felt like. Tiny, white-hot electrical charges stung the organs in her stomach, concentrating in her lower abdomen. It never ceased or slowed-down.

She had never heard of that specific curse before. Either she had missed it in her studies of the Dark Arts, or someone was creating new spells.

"All I have to do is take three steps forward, bitch. I'll take you back to Hogwarts and you'll be staring at the dead bodies of your friends in five seconds."

His arm had stopped bleeding, but he had lost too much of it to think straight. He stumbled towards her, swaying from side to side. Hermione stepped backwards, squeezing her eyes shut from both pain and concentration.

There seemed to be no escape route. She couldn't apparate now, not with multiple injuries. But _,_ she realized, he can't either.

"Not without getting splinched. Or killed. You're more injured than I am." She gasped. The electricity curse seemed to be sucking all the air from her lungs, making it almost impossible to speak. Her mouth crackled. She tasted sparks.

Rookwood sent another curse at her but it missed by a couple meters.

"Maybe you're right. But I can always call someone here to take you." He sneered.

Hermione mustered the physical and mental strength to move towards him, ignoring every thought that screamed it was a bad idea.

"Go ahead," she sneered right back. "Try. I doubt it'll work when your body is no longer connected to the mark." She kicked his estranged arm to his feet.

It was dull without blood running through it, but it was there. The Dark Mark. She had cut it off.

He seethed with anger, opening his mouth to curse her again. But this time, Hermione was waiting for it. She hit him with a Jelly-Fingers Jinx, causing him to drop his wand. He tried to pick it up but failed, his fingers uncontrollably shaking, but she hit him with _Incarcerous_ before deciding it was safe to leave. 

"They're after you. You'll die running, mudblood."

Hermione picked her newspaper off the ground, trying not to scream in agony as she did so. Her whole body was trembling. She stared at him, working up the courage to disapparate. This could kill her.

"Better than dying at the hands of a coward like you."

Then, taking a deep breath, she disapparated. Everything was dark and she felt like she was suffocating, her injuries burned and her heart raced.

She slammed into the ground.

Disapparation had made everything worse. Tenfold. She retched on the ground but nothing came up. The pain was blinding.

Hermione laid on her back, bending her legs up at the knees. It helped a little. This position allowed the pain to spread out more evenly, instead of bunching into knots centered at one spot.

She wracked her brain for a counter-curse.

_There's no cure for something just invented. Especially not when they don't care about fixing it._ She wanted to cry.

Time slowly ticked by. No protective wards were put up. No campsite was made.

After what felt like several hours, she sat up. Over time, the pain had slightly alleviated. She cast a few small wards around just her.

Peeling her shirt up, she gasped. Her abdomen was dark shades of blue and green and purple. She touched it, immediately pulling her hand back with a yelp: she had been shocked.

Yanking the material up further, she found that her first injury appeared much worse, though it didn't hurt as much.

"Numbness can't be a good sign," she whispered to herself.

There was a hole, about three centimeters in diameter. Hermione took a closer look though she instantly turned her head away. She could see bone.

"Met Rookwood, have you?"

Hermione yelped, whipping her head around so fast she got whiplash.

Standing a few yards behind her was none other than Draco Malfoy. Tall, blond, broad. He had a new scar across his cheek. His lips were carved into a smirk that met his eyes, staring at her like she was the most amusing thing in the world. The pale skin of his hands and neck peaked out from dark robes that likely cost more money than Hermione had ever seen. But it was like he didn't care if they got ruined; his shoulder was leaning against the mossy trunk of a tree, and the bottoms were sweeping the dirty ground. Infuriatingly, he still managed to look exceedingly elegant. One hand was tucked in his pocket, the other carelessly twirled his wand between slender fingertips.

He looked so casual. So normal. As if the last time he'd seen her hadn't been at battle. Like he wasn't here to capture, torture, and kill her.

"He did say something about meeting you in Diagon Alley. I thought he'd been mistaken. But that's his work there," he was stepping closer, pointing at her side. Still smirking.

Hermione pulled her shirt down, trying her best to scamper to her feet. The pain was debilitating but she held her wand out in front of her, ignoring how shaky she felt.

"Fuck off, Malfoy. I cut a man's arm off five hours ago and I'll do it again."

He blinked like he'd been expecting her to say something like that. Then took a few wide steps closer.

They may have been in an open forest but Hermione felt like walls were closing in on her. The sky seemed to be falling, the trees spinning, the ground shaking. Rookwood had been more than she expected, but Malfoy...she knew he'd be ruthless.

"'Brightest Witch of Her Age.' Bullshit. You must realize how completely stupid it was to go to Diagon Alley, don't you?" He continued on as if she hadn't interrupted. "It's crawling with wizards and witches that would like nothing more than to be presented with your heart on a silver platter."

She knew. Of course she knew. Her fury grew taller.

"Yet I managed to get away almost completely unharmed while Rookwood is missing an arm. You can dismiss my nickname all you want, but we both know which one of us is brighter."

The stab at his intelligence made his eyes darken. His wand stilled in his hand, now pointing at her. It didn't feel threatening, but Hermione knew better.

"Don't get cocky, mudblood. I'm not going to be as kind as I was a week ago," Malfoy snarled. "I'm supposed to bring you back alive, but I can hurt you all I want." He took more steps forward, Hermione took the same amount back.

Using wandless magic, she tried to stupefy him. He deflected it into the trees without blinking.

"Rookwood must be shit at dueling if that's what he was up against. You fight like you want to die." He was almost laughing, but the emotion in his eyes didn't change.

Undeterred, she flicked her wand at a tree branch above him. It cracked silently and flew down towards his head. This made him finally look away to block it. Hermione lunged forward to swipe her wand at his robes, cutting into his arm. Hissing in pain, he used a powerful spell to knock her over, making her fly back. Her head hit a tree. Hard.

Trees melted into darkness. She couldn't hear anything. _No, no, no. Stay awake. Stay awake._

She forced herself to stand up, despite the screams of anguish from every part of her body. Everything shook. Sobs wracked up in her throat, threatening to betray her weakly built resilience.

"Better, I suppose. Though not by much. A poor effort from the girl who was Potter's bitch for seven years," said a hazy, muffled voice. If she hadn't been fighting with Draco moments earlier, she wouldn't have been able to tell it was him.

It was likely she had a concussion. A bad one.

Impossible was the only word coming to her mind. Impossible. I can't fight anymore.

He seemed to be reading her thoughts, like he knew she was giving up. He didn't send anymore pain-inducing spells at her but tied her up, the same way his father had done to Ron not long ago.

Hermione struggled against the restraints, a small sob spilling out of her throat as the ropes dug into her skin. It seemed to be especially tight against her rib cage. Her back was against the tree, her legs flat out in front of her. She kept her head down as Draco strolled up to her, not giving him the satisfaction of her tear-filled eyes.

"You done?" He asked, using the tip of his wand to lift her face up.

She kicked one of her legs up to smash against his knees, forcing him to stumble backwards in order not to fall.

"Never."

"Figures. You never did know when to quit," he said with fake pity.

No, she didn't. But God, she was so tired, all she wanted to do was close her eyes. Draco had gotten much better at dueling since the last time she'd seen him.

Once again the sun was setting. Instead of admiring its beauty, Hermione found herself staring at the sharp contrast provided by Draco's dark figure against the sky. He removed his wand from her chin, choosing to slip it down her shoulder instead. Then it stopped. By her ribs. A gasp ripped from her throat as he dipped his wand into the hole, her mind flooded with the pain.

"If you try anything again, I'll personally ensure the loss of feeling in your left side forever."

Not just a threat, but a promise.

Hermione gave no response.

Draco whispered some sort of spell over her, but she couldn't understand. Her injuries felt better but she doubted they were completely healed. What she did know was that she was about to pass out. He seemed to realize it too, seizing her arm as soon as her eyes fluttered shut, against her will.

Then her body was being squeezed and her brain felt like it was being compressed flat. She couldn't stay awake any longer. As soon as they arrived at their destination, she passed out.


	5. Chapter 5

The difference between the warm sunshine from the forest and the frozen air of wherever they were was immediately felt. Grass turned into flat, rough stone. There was a stale breeze floating past and through her, erupting goosebumps down her spine. Most unsettling of all, it was quiet. Silent. The only sound was her heartbeat thumping in her ears and her strained breathing.

Then someone was forcing her to stand up, she could feel their cold hands on the small of her back. She recoiled at their touch.

Her eyes opened. The sight of the Great Hall greeted her.

It already looked different. The tables were gone, the banners replaced with something different that swayed in the wind, the ceiling a dark black. The windows had been smashed into pieces; Hermione could feel some of the glass from the panes digging into the palms of her hands. It was still light outside when they had disapparated, but it was darker than midnight in the Hall. In the center of the room was Lucius. He wore an expression that was shockingly similar to the smug one his son often wore.

Behind Lucius was some sort of structure. It was so dark in the Hall it was hard to tell what it was made out of, or what it was. But as Hermione was shoved closer, she realized it was wands. Dozens of them. She couldn’t tell what the structure was but her stomach still twisted into tight knots.

Malfoy was behind her. Hermione wanted to run, but as soon as the thought entered her mind she felt a sharp stab on her back. His wand. Deciding that if she was going to be humiliated that it would happen on her terms, she walked faster, head held high.

Other Death Eaters were in the room. Not only could she see them out of the corner of her eye, but her skin prickled with the amount of Dark Magic filling the air.

It felt like it was smothering her.

Despite the fact that there were at least seven other people in the room with her, it was completely silent except for the echoes of her footsteps and the faint sound of someone screaming below her. Hermione wasn’t sure if the screams were her imagination or not, but there was no time to think about that. She was now standing directly in front of Lucius.

He was sitting but his frame seemed to tower over her. His lavish jewelry sparkled in the bit of light that managed to shine through the dark. She could see his wand resting beside him on an armrest, making her realize she had no clue where her own was.

“Miss Granger. How nice of you to join us,” Lucius smiled. Hermione did not.

“Found her deep in Wyre Forest. She’s injured, Rookwood got to her before I did,” Malfoy said.

“Is that so?” Lucius’ polite smile dropped. He stood up from his makeshift throne, which was covered in a fur that looked suspiciously similar to Fluffy’s. “Rookwood! Why don’t you come and join us?”

Rookwood came forward, looking like he could give many reasons why he shouldn’t. Hermione was inwardly pleased to note his arm was still missing, the stump still bleeding. They had not given him anything to stem the blood flow with, though she guessed magic stopped him from bleeding out. He was looking down at the floor. Dragging his feet. Blinking rapidly. His hands were shaking, similarly to the way Hermione’s were. _He’s nervous,_ she thought.

“I thought you said you lost your arm from a witch in Diagon Alley.” Lucius no longer looked smug. His eyes were unforgiving, angry. Dark. Hermione was almost scared for Rookwood. Almost.

“I-I did, Your Grace. The mudblood was in Diagon Alley, I found and attempted to capture her but-”

“But you failed,” came the younger Malfoy’s voice from behind her. “Tell me, you fucking halfwit, why you thought to use not one but _two_ unperfected spells on her? Are you so stupid that you couldn’t remember what your orders were?”

If Rookwood hadn’t been nervous before, he certainly was now. The shaking was no longer solely located to his hands - his entire body was now trembling. He swallowed.

“No, sir. I remember.”

“Then why did you disobey? Did you think you knew better than I?”

Silence.

Malfoy shoved Hermione aside, ropes appearing from nowhere to bind her arms and legs. The ground was painful to kneel on; the stones of the Hall’s floor bit at her knees and calves. Despite her aggressive attempts, she could not move.

She stared at the scene unfolding in front of her. Malfoy’s face was perfectly calm, but his word choice was anything but. He ripped at Rookwood. Hermione was surprised to see that Malfoy didn’t use his wand to threaten the man in front of him.

But he didn’t need to. Thirty seconds into Malfoy’s verbal attack, he slipped a knife out of his robes.

“Fancy losing another arm today, Augustus?” Maintaining eye contact, Malfoy reached over to grab the Death Eater’s remaining arm. Hermione watched as the blade of the knife sliced into the first layer of Rookwood’s skin. She winced but the blond man in front of her did not.

Hermione realized that Malfoy had more power than she thought.

In Sixth Year, he had been given the task of murdering Dumbledore - something only a person deeply tied with Voldemort would be willing to do. It meant he would have to be somewhat powerful, as killing a wizard of Dumbledore’s skill would be terribly difficult. But he had failed. Either Voldemort had made a mistake in how ruthless Malfoy could be, or he had just miscalculated how eager the teen boy would be to kill his own Headmaster.

Watching the silver blade push deeper into Rookwood’s flesh, Hermione distracted herself with figuring out Malfoy’s role. He hadn’t partaken in any of the torture at the Battle.

_But he did. He made you watch. That’s even worse._

The thought was horrible and Hermione swatted it away. But every thought afterwards was just as terrible. It was like every happy idea immediately evaporated upon entering her skull. All things were bad now. There was nothing good in the world. Her brain often felt the way it did when Dementors were around: frozen, fearful, fatal.

She refocused her mind.

Malfoy. What _was_ his role, if not head-torturer? He didn’t even seem to be in charge overall. Lucius was. He was the one with a throne, the one sitting over the other Death Eaters.

Yet he wasn’t stopping Malfoy from carving into Rookwood.

That specific thought made her look back at the scene unfolding in front of her. All remaining limbs were still attached, though two were heavily bleeding. Malfoy was the epitome of peace as he stashed away his knife.

“She is not yours to experiment on. If you ever try that again, I will kill you.” Short. Angry. His expression unchanging.

Malfoy had always been made of stone, but this was another level.

Hermione was almost frightened of him.

Lucius had been watching Malfoy punish Rookwood through half-interested eyes, but now he turned his attention back to Hermione. She was still sitting on the floor, kneeling painfully.

“Stand up, Miss Granger.”

She stared at him. He was unmoved.

“I won’t repeat myself. If you want to survive, I suggest you obey my instructions.”

Hermione weighed her options silently for a moment. Of course survival was her most important goal, but following the commands of Lucius would mean that she had accepted that she was below him. Accepting that would be impossible.

And Hermione Granger did not accept the impossible.

She blinked once and clenched her jaw. “No.”

Her refusal made Malfoy look at her, like he had forgotten she was there until she spoke. Reaching an arm out, he yanked her off the ground onto her feet. Almost immediately she collapsed again: after kneeling for twenty minutes, her legs had gone numb.

Without a word or spare glance, Malfoy cast a spell. Warmth and feeling returned to her legs. She didn’t look at him.

Now that she was standing, Lucius buried his irritation under another small smile. If Hermione had been a different girl living a different life, it might have been comforting. Like he was pretending not to be annoyed for her sake - something that reminded her of Hagrid. Lucius sat back down, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back.

“Now. Why don’t you start off by telling me why you were out in Wyre Forest?”

She said nothing. Malfoy could make her stand but he could not make her talk.

Lucius tisked, like a father would over a child’s bad grade. Disappointed.

“Lestrange. Come.”

This made Hermione’s demeanor falter. She began to wildly whip her head around to look around the room. But that was unnecessary. Bellatrix soon apparated right in front of her.

She was terrifying, especially more now that she was supposed to be dead. Hermione had watched Mrs. Weasley kill her. Bellatrix grinned like she could see Hermione’s thoughts written across her forehead.

“You didn’t really think the Dark Lord would let me die so easily, did you?” Bellatrix walked closer to her. “Polyjuice Potion, mudblood. A rather handy potion to have.”

Hermione chose to say nothing. Her thoughts ran like a river, lapping at the outer banks of coherency. Normally the water would overflow and the river would flood with clever ideas, but today nothing happened. The river in her head was intent on being peaceful today, no matter how hard Hermione rocked the boat.

Normally her memory would be able to retrieve information about the potion, specifically whether or not that was actually possible. Did Polyjuice wear off after death? Infuriatingly, she couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember.

Bellatrix cackled and stepped away, now facing Lucius. She bowed, although her expression was one of distaste.

_She doesn’t approve of Lucius as leader._

“How can I be of service, my Lord?”

“Go get Veritaserum. If our pet doesn’t want to talk, then we’ll make her. Now.”

Bellatrix clumsily bowed once again, giving Hermione a look that made her insides crawl, and then was gone.

Hermione wracked her brains for everything she knew about Veritaserum. A clear, odorless potion; it makes one tell the truth - including, but not limited to, their deepest secrets; but...there were ways to get around it.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The two easiest ways were Occlumency and the antidote.

Entertaining the antidote solution was ridiculous and she quickly moved on. But there was nothing to be reaped from the second option either. She had never attempted Occlumency before, although she was now kicking herself for not reading more about it. All she knew about it was what Harry had told her.

_Think, think, think._

Veritaserum forced the victim to tell the truth. Yet it wasn’t credible in court.

Barty Crouch Jr. He had been given Veritaserum during his trial, but Fudge hadn’t found it to be extremely credible. Why?

_Because even without the antidote or Occlumency, you can get around it. It only makes you tell_ your _truth._

Everyone could see that Crouch had not been in his right mind during his trial. Even with Veritaserum, no one could be sure he was telling the truth.

Because he believed what he was saying. Despite how truthful it was in reality.

Hermione opened her eyes.

She did not pretend to be a better witch than she was. She couldn’t outrun the effects of the potion forever, nor evade them completely.

But she _could_ convince herself of a new truth. At least partially.

Doing so was like Occlumency, except slightly easier and more temporary. Occlumency was like separating memories and putting them away to be retrieved later; but the memory itself was not tampered with. It was whole.

Purposefully changing a memory was not like that. Eventually the real memories would float through and poke holes in the fake memories. But as long as it lasted the next couple hours, she would be fine.

There was not really much she needed to hide. She knew Lucius knew about the Horcrux already; after all, she only found out after gleaming through his speech at the Battle.

But she could get rid of minor details, like her stay at the Burrow. What she had done in London.

Lucius had unknowingly helped her by telling her that she was about to be given Veritaserum. If she had been surprised, or unsuspecting, then she would have had no chance at saving anything. That’s why most Veritaserum was secretly slipped into drinks.

Hermione didn’t have a lot of time, she knew that. But if she wanted to do this, she had to stay calm and not rush.

That was difficult with Lucius staring her down and Malfoy cleaning blood off his robes.

She focused on her breathing. _In... and out. Again. Once more._

Her heart rate slowed. She mentally went through the past week and everything she had done. Protection spells at the Burrow, Ron’s letter, finding out about the horcrux, going to London, listing Horcrux suggestions, going to Diagon Alley.

Then she started to change those things. She wasn’t at the Burrow, she was in the forest - she apparated there right after the Battle. Ron’s letter was a piece of newspaper she found that said something about the Muggles being murdered - what she had _actually_ read in the elderly man’s newspaper. It was in the forest that she figured out there was another Horcrux. The rest remained unchanged. She didn’t care if Lucius heard about the remainder of her week.

Hermione went over her past week over and over, changing small details every time. In between each change, she used a wandless spell to cast a memory-erasing charm. She didn’t know how well it would work, considering it _was_ wandless and she didn’t think she would be physically able to perform much magic. But she did her best, repeating the process until all the original memories were gone and only the false one remained.

It wasn’t perfect by the time Bellatrix apparated back, but it was good enough.

Lucius tipped her head back, pushing her chin with his wand. Cool glass pressed against her lips. The potion slipped down easily, but it felt heavy in the pit of her stomach.

“Let’s try this again, shall we? What were you doing in Wyre Forest?”

“Hiding.”

“From what?”

Hermione’s eyes drifted towards Rookwood, who was currently huddled on the ground with both arms tucked into his robes.

“I see. So you went there immediately after your run in with Rookwood?”

“Yes.”

“Have you only been in Diagon Alley and the forest all week?”

“Yes.”

The youngest Malfoy had been standing just out of Hermione’s line of vision the entire time she was being questioned. Now he stepped forward until he was directly in between her and Lucius.

His figure loomed over her smaller one. Being entirely at his mercy made her feel stupid. Small. He was expressionless, blinking down at her. She almost wished he would be angry, or cruel, or smug. Anything. At least then she’d be able to read him.

If her arms and legs hadn’t still been tied together, she probably would have smacked him just to get a reaction.

“That’s enough, Father. I’ll question her now.” Malfoy spoke, directed towards Lucius, not blinking.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“Were you specifically in Wyre Forest all week? Or did you apparate multiple times?”

“Multiple times.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not stupid. Staying in one place would be.”

“Then why did you go to Diagon Alley?”

“I had no choice. There was no other way for me to find out what was going on. I needed to hear some news, to see it for myself.”

“And then you met Rookwood there?” Lucius cut in. “Explain what happened.”

“I went into an alley to disapparate but he found me, removed my Disillusionment Charm, and tried to stop me. He cursed me a couple times. I cut off his arm and then disapparated. I wasn’t in the forest for long until Malfoy found me.”

“I can tell by your injuries that he didn’t use common curses,” Malfoy said disdainfully. “If we decide not to kill you, I’ll heal those.”

“Why does it matter to you? You threatened me as soon as you saw me.” Hermione focused on the second part of Malfoy’s last sentence. Death had been right around the corner for the majority of her teenage years. It felt normal to hear her life being threatened, no matter how sincere or not the threats ended up being.

“Empty words, mudblood. You’ll remember I didn’t attack you until you came at me.”

Hermione said nothing. Malfoy annoyed her. She had no idea what he was getting at - if he was going to torture or kill her, she wanted him to get it over with.

After a brief pause, in which he looked at her with a distinct lack of interest, he continued.

“How did you find out?”

“Just because you drugged me with Truth Serum doesn’t mean I can understand vague questions.”

She broke the ever-fast eye contact for a split second to look at Lucius and Bellatrix. They were staring at her, looking like they knew exactly what Malfoy was getting at.

Hermione was not used to being the inferior one in a group. She huffed out loud in annoyance. On the other hand, Malfoy showed his first bit of emotion in a while - he stepped closer, his eyes flashing with cruel amusement.

“How did you find out there was another Horcrux?”

Hermione didn’t know how _he_ knew that she figured that out. But she didn’t care enough at this point to ask, and she didn’t care if he knew.

“Your father wasn’t very subtle about it. Anyone with a brain could put two-and-two together.”  
  
Lucius actually laughed aloud at that before standing. He stepped next to Malfoy, whose amusement dropped but otherwise remained indifferent to the movement behind him.

“Were you looking for the Horcrux, Miss Granger?”

“Yes.”

“Have you told anyone else of your discovery?”

“No.”

“Do you know what it is? Did you find it?”

Hermione wanted to lie, and she tried to. But the word ‘yes’ got stuck in her throat and disappeared.

“No, but I could figure it out if I had longer than a week. And when I get out of here, I will find it - and destroy it.”

Lucius opened his mouth as if to speak again but Malfoy interrupted.

“You won’t be leaving.” Malfoy said. “There is no reason to kill you off just yet, and you could still prove to be useful.”

Hermione blinked, vaguely aware that she was now becoming trapped.

“You will stay here until you figure out what the Horcrux is - if you ever do. As soon as you figure out what it is, you will tell me. Failure to do so properly will result in more injuries similar to the ones you’ve recently acquired.” His eyes flickered to her side before meeting her own eyes once more. “Besides the people in this room, no one else knows there is another Horcrux. You will be kept away from all other prisoners, so you don’t get any ideas about escaping.”

As soon as Malfoy started speaking, Bellatrix seemed to freeze in place. Her anger became increasingly evident as he continued on, and she went face-to-face with him when he finished.

“Draco, don’t be weak. You don’t need the girl’s help with anything. She will ruin all our plans; kill her now and be done with her.”

Malfoy turned towards her. “The Dark Lord may have favored you when he was here but he placed me in charge over you. Let me make this _very_ clear-” he glared at every other Death Eater in the room. ”I won’t tolerate any disrespect.”

Then, without any warning or hesitation, Malfoy pointed his wand at his aunt.

“ _Silencio._ ”

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise as Bellatrix gaped at her nephew, her hatred conveyed through her glare. She knew then that she was correct - Malfoy was more powerful than she had originally thought. Otherwise, Bellatrix would have never allowed this.

Although she loathed the dark-haired woman in front of her, the role reversal was still shocking.

But she did not feel sorry for her.

Malfoy did not waste much time dealing with his aunt before tucking his wand away, raising an eyebrow at Hermione.

“Worse punishments than not being able to speak will be used if you try to run, disobey, or escape. I will know if you attempt any of those things. I’m choosing to spare your life, if only temporarily, but don’t forget I can change that at any moment. You will use no magic. Here, you are a Muggle. You are nothing.”

Hermione knew she should probably be listening carefully so she could pick through his words later and ascertain the hidden information. But her brain that was being oh-so-carefully preserved had gone numb. Nothing stuck; not one sliver of information. Yet she found herself nodding when he had finished speaking.

“What if I never find out what the Horcrux is?”

“You will. Because if you don’t, and someone finds it and destroys it before we can get to it, then I will personally insure that you are there to watch each and every one of your friends deaths. You will obey me because at the snap of my fingers, I could have someone torture them ten different ways. I could kill them myself at any moment.” Malfoy’s tone hinted of finality: he was done talking to her. He turned to Lucius.

“The Dark Lord was very clear about each of our tasks. Continue to focus on his Rebirth, and I will continue with this. It should not take that long.”

Lucius gave a perfunctory nod of understanding, sitting back down.

Without warning, Malfoy grabbed her arm. “Let’s see your new home, shall we?”

He twisted his body, disapparating with her.

He had said she wouldn’t be kept with the other prisoners, but she still had no clue where she would be. But when their feet slammed into the ground, she knew instantly where they were.

The Astronomy Tower.

Malfoy gave her no time to adjust to her surroundings before tossing her into an entirely new one.

A cage.

A metal cage, with thick bars like one would see in a prison cell. About two meters in height, length, and width, give or take. A section of the cage that seemed to act like a door had slid open, only slamming shut with a ringing _clang_ once Hermione was entirely in the cage. She winced as her hands and knees hit the stone of the ground but did not say anything.

Standing an arms-length away from her entrapment, he flicked his wand in her direction. The pain that had been covering her entire body immediately subsided.

“This is where you will be staying. Someone will come here in the morning to accompany you to the bathroom, you’ll be permitted to go there a few times a day. I’m only allowing you to leave to decrease the risk of complete muscle atrophy - you won’t be able to do much in here.” His eyes trailed off from hers to glance at the metal bars. “Don’t try and escape. As I’m sure you could have guessed, there are enchantments embedded into the metal. Your magic won’t work.”

Then he bent down so that he was face-to-face with her, a slight glint of amusement hiding behind grey eyes.

“The metal holds every spell, every curse, every single little jinx you try and throw at it. It will hold it there until you are stupid enough to try and escape. Then it will throw it all back at you. Your arms, or legs, or whatever body part you touch it with will burn. And I won’t be as kind as I’m being now: I will not heal your wounds.”

Hermione couldn’t tell if he was bluffing or not. It didn’t seem like it, and he had no reason to lie to her. She was at his mercy. He could do whatever he wanted with her.

She said nothing.

“Like I said before, your job is to figure out what the Horcrux is. Preferably before anyone outside of Hogwarts does. Once the Dark Lord is back, and if you are still alive, he will decide what to do with you.”

Malfoy stood back up, taking a couple steps back. Hermione didn’t know how he had become so confident, so dominant, so... _evil_ in only the past few days. He didn’t even seem like a past fellow student anymore.

“If I were you, I’d start thinking, mudblood. Your life depends on it.”

And with that, he disapparated, leaving Hermione. Alone. 


End file.
